


other girls

by BigScaryDinos



Category: Creep (2014)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Serial Killers, creep 2 was an amazing movie okay and there needs to be more fanfictions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: Sara wonders if it's not a bad thing to be like other girls.Post Creep 2.





	other girls

_You’re not like other girls._

 

Everyone said that. All the men she had met in her life. _You’re not like other girls._ They would all say on the first date or the second anniversary or the middle of a conversation in a bar. They would text her and email her and snapchat her. It was a question and a statement and a fact. It would ring inside her head over and over and over again.

 

_You’re not like other girls._

 

When she was young, much younger than she is now, she thought it was a good thing. Girls were vapid and dull and cared about makeup and selfies and boys. It was a high school thing. She wanted to be different, wanted to stand out. She wanted to be the Anne Frank, the Rosa Parks, the Rosie the Riveter of her day and age. She didn’t want to be like other girls, other girls were uninspired. Other girls were self absorbed. Other girls were not her. She was not them.

 

_You’re not at all like any other girl I’ve ever met._

 

And at first it was the biggest compliment she could get. A guy would tell her that it would be like a lock in a key, her whole heart and soul opened to a kindred spirit who could see her for what she was. It was a bragging point. It was her proudest achievement.

 

 _No, I’m not am I?_   She remembers laughing and agreeing the first time someone spoke the words inside her head out loud. She was proud, she with her dyed blue hair and nose ring. With her stick and poke tattoo on her ankle. She who wanted to be different, but not so different as to be disliked or hated. She who found with a quick google search that some of the most influential women of this day and age were popular. Not entirely unlike other girls. She who was just a little confused. She who was still finding herself in Hot Topic clothing and acne cream and forums on the internet.

 

_You’re not like other girls._

 

Then it became a curse. The words all boys would whisper in her ear while rocking inside her or kissing her neck. The words became a weapon the day she understood they were just words. These boys did not mean it. They did not see it. They did not understand her drive or desires or passion. They did not want to understand. They just said it, they said it because of her hair and her face and her boots. Her unwillingness to attend formals. He refusal to shave her armpits. Her crooked teeth and funny stories. To them she was just like any other girl. They just said the right words. College will be different. Men there are educated, she would think about the art school she wanted to attend. They're smart and funny and sophisticated.

 

When she left highschool it followed like a dark cloud.

 

 _You’re not like other girls._ Said the men in her acrylics 103 class. The sculptor next to her would bring it up in conversation. The owner of the bar she performed open mics at. Because she wasn’t sure and didn’t quite understand just yet what she could become she agreed. She wasn’t like other girls, but only because of her looks. Because of mild quirks. She no longer cared or didn’t care if she looked like all the other girls, she wanted to be different because she wanted to mean something. If it would mean to look normal she would. She didn’t know all this just yet and so she stayed with her goofy hair, her odd piercings, her quirks. She was comfortable there, inside her own bubble. Her purple hair. Her nipple piercings.

 

_You’re not like other girls._

 

But she was treated the same as any other girls in the world. Wine and dine. Hello and goodbye. Her brain and heart didn’t matter as much as her chest size and if she would open her legs. It hurt. Men were rejected sometimes and they would spit the words at her feet.

 

_Any other girl would be thrilled to fuck me. Any other girl would beg for one date. Every girl I’ve dated wasn’t such a frigid bitch ._

 

It always came down to other girls.

 

When Sara met Aaron, if that was even his real name, she finally felt something different. He didn’t treat her like other girls, he never even mentioned all the other girls she could be. He wasn’t like other guys. He was different and bizarre. He was wild and unpredictable. He was dangerous. He never compared her to anyone but herself. She wasn't a girl to him, she was just a person.

 

Twenty four hours flew in a hurricane.

 

Then he tried to kill her. But he didn’t. Sara still thinks he missed all her vital organs on purpose. She still thinks somewhere inside her heart that he never really wanted to kill her, it was a panic and instinct. She doesn’t know why he wouldn’t kill her, not after everything she’d seen. Not after all the things he had told her. She thinks of all the lies he could have told maybe he was being honest. Maybe his name was Aaron and he had never been kissed. Maybe he just wanted somebody to listen to him. Maybe he was a treacherous man who was like a spider, pulling everyone into his web. But in a way wasn't that what she wanted. She wanted to matter if only for a minute, and only  to one person. She didn't want to be a girl, she just wanted to be. That was what she was to Aaron.

 

_You’re not like other girls._

 

Now it meant something other than haircuts and motivations. Now it meant she was scarred. She wasn’t like other girls. She had been through hell and back. She was thrown into a grave. She was stabbed. Other girls wouldn’t know the feeling of holding a shovel, swinging it against someone’s skull. They wouldn’t know how it shook in their hands with the recoil. A solid meeting a solid. Other girls wouldn’t understand the feeling of a blood splattering against their cold body, still covered in dirt. Would never know the adrenaline coursing through your body as you run through the woods in the pitch black.

 

_You’re not like other girls._

 

No she wasn’t. She never would be again.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Creep okay? I love it. Okay. Thanks. Bye.


End file.
